Here… Catch

Humans like to throw things at each other. Sometimes it’s because
they want that thrown thing to hurt the other person, but I like to think that
usually it’s for fun or to make the bland and tedious task of handing something
to someone else more fun. Football was a
completely boring form of opposite soccer before passing was added. Throwing is fun.

It turns out that the only way to get things from one car to
another on the road is to throw them, like with a tape or a taco. Yes, tapes and tacos.

In 1996 I was in Ft. Lauderdale with the rats that played
basketball. Miss Sally and I had just
moved in together and we were very careful not to throw things at each
other. At that time, I had my 1988 Honda
Civic which had taken me back and forth across the country with the
aforementioned rats. Helping us to pass
the time in that Honda was a tape deck.
I had an awesome collection of cassette tapes (Cassette tapes are like a
CD with a broken skip track button) from George Carlin and Monty Python to
Frank’s Fresh Favorites 6 to Depeche Mode.
I also had Enya’s “Watermark” tape. It had been on heavy replay in my tape
deck.

In Florida, the turn lanes are usually doubled up and 50
cars long so that when you are in one, you are usually next to someone who is intently trying to ignore you as much as you are trying to ignore
them. This works out because everyone has heavy
tint, their windows rolled up and air conditioning on. But my windows were down because I am from
Ohio and I like to let the natural environment envelope me (My air conditioner was broken.) For some reason, the car next to me also had
their window down and could not help but hear that my pathetic factory speakers
spit out and treble knob turned all the way up Enya tape. The woman in the car next to me leaned out
her window and yelled, “Excuse me! What
is that song you are listening to?”

I said, “It’s Enya! I’m not sure which song.”

She replied, “I really like it! It sounds awesome!”

And without thinking, I hit the eject button, pulled out the
tape and threw it at her window and yelled, “Here… catch!”

She really didn’t have time to catch it, but I did make it
through her window and landed in her car.

“You don’t have to do that!”

I lied, “Don’t worry, I have another one!”

“Thanks!”

And then we both drove on as the light changed.

I’m not sure why I did that.
I’d love to track down that woman and see if her life was changed by
that Enya tape as much as I like to think it could have been. That she was
moved to quit her job and continue with her Celtic music career. Or maybe she played it for her child at home
to help them fall asleep at night.

A few years later, I made another toss.

I was passing through Bowling Green, Ohio. Bowling Green is home to BGSU and
LifeFormations. They also have a Taco
Bell. I think I was hungover. At that time in my life, I had a 50/50 chance
of being hungover or still drunk if I had Taco Bell. It was daytime, so the odds I was hungover. Per usual, I had about 75 items purchased
from the drive thru. Usually a
combination of Chilitos (Chili Cheese Burritos as you know them), hard shell
tacos and bean burritos (no onions, add sour cream.)

At this time, I was choking down a taco while
stopped at a light. A truck pulled up
next to me in the left hand turn lane. A
very cute girl in the passenger seat looked over and down at me and was really
excited about the taco I was eating. She
said, “Hey! That taco looks really good!”

I swallowed and said, “You want one?”

“Sure!”

I reached in the bag and grabbed a taco. “Here… catch!”

The taco arced through the air between my car and the
truck. At the zenith of the throw, the
wrapper stopped being a wrapper, caught air and became a really shitty
cape. The contents of the taco, now free
to move about, began to move about. The
shell of the taco decided to hang back a bit and let the meat, lettuce, tomato
and cheese go first. The girl tried to
grab on to this once singular taco, but found herself trying to grasp a mist of vegetable
and beef. She only succeeded enhancing
the ex-taco trajectories and spreading them out through the front seat of the
truck. There was a thin layer of taco all over her and the seat. She was completely aghast. I was
completely hit the gas and got out of there.
I’d like to think I said sorry as I sped off, but I’m sure I didn’t.

The moral of this story(s) is this: spontaneity is great. Go
with it. But only throw music; tediously hand over food.